A MeTV Mash-Up
by Sarah's Scrawls
Summary: The hunt is on for a wanted man, and appearances from various characters from many western shows will occur.
1. Chapter 1

If any of you love westerns, like I do, then you may watch MeTV on Saturdays, as I do. I love imagining what would happen if some characters from one show met characters from another show, so I finally decided to just write that myself. So here you have it, a MeTV mash-up, combining all the shows that are played on MeTV on Saturdays, excluding Trackdown. One disclaimer I will say, other than that obviously I own none of these shows, is that some of these shows I am much more familiar with than others, so if I ever write something that is incorrect about some of the shows, feel free to correct me. As should be, I will update every Saturday. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

The lone rider was a conspicuous shadow against the blue sky and sandy expanse of sagebrush. The bright sun beat down on his dark form, and he wiped the moisture wearily from his forehead. The tired horse stumbled, and this finally convinced the rider that he should take a rest. Halting, he climbed off of his mount and took a small drink from his canteen, savouring each drop. Something glinted on his holster, and if an observer had been close enough, he might have seen that it was an engraving of a knight from a chess game. After the stranger had fully appreciated his drink, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled note. He reread it carefully, then, wiping his forehead one last time, he remounted and continued on his way.

* * *

"Aaand a full house beats three of a kind, so I'd say that means I'm the winner." A self-satisfied gambler collected his winnings, but one of the other players didn't look too happy.

"It's mighty bad taste when a cheat gets rewarded for his cheatin'," he grumbled loudly. The man who had won paused in gathering his money, and looking up at the man with a pleasant smile, he responded,

"It's mighty bad taste to call a man a cheat."

"Not if it's the truth." The whole bar had grown still and tense, waiting for one or the other to make a move for his gun. However, before anything could happen, the winner said with a shrug,

"Well, this much money ain't worth gettin' killed over. You just tell me what you lost and I'll pay you back." The complaining man stood stunned by surprise, and finally said gruffly,

"I lost ten dollars." The winner jovially counted the bills, and then smiling widely handed them back to the man.

"There we are, that should be right. And here's an extra dollar for the trouble." With a wave and a smile, the gambler walked out of the saloon, leaving all its patronizers mystified.

As he walked out the door, a voice came from his side: "You know, Brother Bret, if you keep up this gambling habit, it might become dangerous for your health." Without missing a beat, Bret answered,

"Look who's talking, Brother Bart." Then with an ear-splitting grin, he swung around to slap the man on the back. "It's good to see you, Bart! What brought you into town?"

"Oh, just a rumor that some no-good gambler was using his talents to rob the whole town. I figured that description just matched you."

"Well, I'm flattered, Brother Bart."

"What brought you into town?" asked Bart.

"Oh, just a rumor that there was a town here just waiting to get robbed." Both men laughed aloud and made their way together across the street to the hotel.

Just as they disappeared inside, two men on horseback came riding into town. One, an old whiskered fellow, was jabbering a mile a minute to the other rider at his side, a young handsome man riding an appaloosa.

"I tell you, Flint, I got all those supplies that the Major said I didn't. I think Bill must have sneaked in and took off with 'em, just so's I'd have to make another trip into town. That no good-"

"Oh, come on, Charlie, just admit that you forgot to get a few things when you came in here. It would make it easier on both of us." Charlie opened his mouth in offense, then closed his mouth and mumbled to himself,

"Someday I'm just going to up and quit this outfit and see how they like me when I'm not around to cook anymore." Flint smiled to himself.

They found the general store and entered, Charlie still grumbling to himself. The friendly store-keeper asked,

"Can I help you gents with anything?" Flint looked pointedly at Charlie who was still sulking, and he said petulantly,

"Well don't look at me! I got my supplies, and that Bill's the one that stole 'em!" Finally, after a moment's pause, he relented. "Alright, maybe I did forget a few supplies. But it was that darn little kid that smiled at me and made me forget why I was here, that's whose fault it was!" The store-keeper and Flint shared a meaningful look.

Just then, a young, light-haired cowboy walked in the door. Spying Flint and Charlie, he approached them both. "Are you the two from the wagon train that's camped nearby?" Flint approached with an outstretched hand.

"That's right. I'm Flint McCullough, scout for the wagon train, and this is Charlie Wooster, our cook." The cowboy shook Flint's offered hand and replied,

"Nice to meet you both. I'm Heath Barkley, and I own a ranch nearby." He paused, looking uncomfortable, and in the silence that followed, Flint asked,

"Can we help you with something?" He didn't reply immediately, but finally he said,

"Is there a man travelling with your train by the name of Jesse Jones?" Flint thought a moment, then answered,

"Yes, he's, uh, traveling with a daughter and a son. Is he a friend of yours?"

"Not likely," snarled Heath. "He's wanted for murder."


	2. Chapter 2

"Now I don't know, Matt, I jes' don't know about this," drawled a wiry character riding a mule. The man to whom he was talking, a U. S. Marshall, looked aside at him seriously and answered,

"I'm sure Clay wasn't lyin' to us when he said that Jones was headed for Reno."

"That may be so, but I think it's a long trip just on the word of a man that would sell his own ma for the right price."

"I don't like Clay any more than you do, Festus, but his hate for Jones is the only thing that's more important to him than his love for money." Festus pondered this thought for a while, nodding his head a few times to get the thought clear in his mind. Finally, when he had accepted the thought for himself, he said,

"Well, I s'pose you're right, Matt." They continued on their way until their ride was abruptly halted by a shot that issued from the surrounding rocks. The two men immediately put their spurs to their mounts and sprinted away from the scene. After several minutes they reined in their horses and looked back over their shoulders for any sign of pursuit.

"Phewee, Matt, that was a close one," commented Festus, wiping his face with his arm. He turned to look at his friend, and his relief vanished to be replaced by concern. The marshall was bent over his saddle, left hand holding a soggy mess on his right shoulder. Festus didn't have to see the reddish color to know what was the matter. He jumped off his mule and hurried to the marshall's side, slowly helping him off his horse and to the ground.

"How bad is it, Matt?" asked Festus anxiously. Matt grimaced and replied,

"Bad enough." Festus ripped open his shirt, causing Matt to groan in pain. After examining the wound thoroughly, Festus shook his head and announced,

"Ye're gonna need a doctor as quick as we can find one." Matt exhaled heavily and said,

"I don't think I can stay on a horse." Without a pause, Festus answered,

"Well I ain't jes' gonna leave you to stay on by yerself. I'll be right beside ya jes' makin' mighty sure that ya don't fall off." Matt, too weak to protest, nodded feebly and allowed Festus to help him back onto his horse.

They had ridden for several miles before they saw any signs of life. Finally, a building came into sight, and as they rode closer they could see that it was an imposing building, quite out of place out in the middle of nowhere. Someone was working out in the pasture, mending a fence, and he looked up as Festus and Matt rode up.

"Howdy strangers," he greeted. His great size seemed to contradict his friendly nature, but Festus didn't ponder this too long.

"My friend here got himself shot and needs a doctor mighty bad. You wouldn't happen to have one handy, would ya?" The big man donned a face full of concern and replied,

"Well, no, I'm afraid we don't, but bring him on up to the house and my Pa will take care of him while I send Little Joe for the doc." Gratefully, Festus followed the stranger, still supporting Matt.

When they reached the house, the big man hurried in and brought out an older man whom Festus assumed must be his father, as well as a younger man who must be the aforementioned Little Joe. Both newcomers quickly approached Festus and Matt and helped the wounded man down. The father passed his share off to Hoss and let the two brothers carry Matt in while he stayed outside to talk to Festus.

"My name's Ben Cartwright," he introduced himself while shaking Festus' hand.

"I'm Festus," answered the deputy, still sending anxious glances up at the house. Ben noticed his curiosity and graciously said,

"I'll want to hear your story sometime, but I'm sure at the moment you must be worn out from your trip. Please come inside and make yourself comfortable while we wait for the doctor."

"Thank ya kindly. I was hopin' you'd make that offer." Ben smiled kindly and placed a hand on Festus' shoulder as they walked towards the house.


	3. Chapter 3

Dust swirled and choked the cowhands as the beeves ambled along the plain. One particular cowboy riding at the back of the herd pulled his bandanna up to cover his mouth and nose, but his sullen eyes still peeped out from the gap between his bandanna and his hat. After a while, the trail boss galloped back to him.

"All right, Rowdy, Quince is coming back to relieve you," he called.

"About time," grumbled Rowdy.

"I want you to ride up to Wishbone and tell him to make camp early." Nodding, Rowdy kicked his horse into a canter and rode towards the chuckwagon. Coming alongside of it, he said to the whiskered old cook,

"Boss said you need to make camp early."

"Well did he bother to tell you why?" Rowdy's quick temper flared up and he answered with some heat,

"No he didn't, Wish, but I think you'd better just do what he says!" Wishbone had a temper to match and he threw back,

"I didn't ask what you thought!" The fiery ramrod's mouth curled into a snarl.

"Why, you old coot, you know Mr. Favor's the boss and can tell you to do anything he feels like!" Before the cook could reply, the trail boss himself came riding up.

"What's a matter with you two? This isn't a Sunday social and I don't pay you to jabber!" Both started at the same time, with Rowdy saying,

"Look here, Boss, Wish won't do what I told him!" and the cook saying simultaneously,

"This young whelp doesn't have the brains of a five-year-old!"

"All right, cut it out!" shouted Mr. Favor. "Rowdy, I told you to tell Wishbone to have supper ready, now is that too hard for you?"

"I told him, Mr. Favor, but then he jumped down my throat and started asking me why he should!" Mr. Favor turned his attention towards Wishbone and asked,

"Is that true?"

"Now Mr. Favor, I don't understand why I'm settin' up camp so early - the men just finished breakfast not an hour ago!" Taking off his hat and hitting it against his chaps, the boss sighed and said with forced patience,

"Wish, if I had to stop and explain every decision I made, we'd still be in San Antone! Now I need you to set up camp HERE and NOW because we're moving into dry country and I need the men moving the beeves non-stop for the next 24 hours." He slapped his hat back onto his head and spurred his horse back into the mass of cattle.

"That blasted fool's gonna lose every hand he's got if he keeps treating them this way," muttered the cook.

"Well, I think they expect that from a trail boss," replied Rowdy contemplatively. "And, anyway," he added, "we've all been on edge since that stampede last night." Wishbone grumbled his agreement, but added,

"I still say he should lay off a bit."

An hour later all the men had gathered around the chuckwagon, finishing off Wishbone's sandwiches. Mr. Favor was just reaching for a last cup of coffee when Pete came galloping into the middle of camp.

"Hey Boss," he called while swiftly dismounting. "There's a rider up ahead, all alone. He seemed to be headin' this way." Setting his coffee cup down, the boss said,

"Well, let's go check it out." Rowdy followed suit and soon all three were on their way.

They had only gone a mile or so when they spotted a horse. Pete, having trained his eyes to see far away, was the first to see it, and he was also the first to notice that there was no rider on its back. As they came closer, they saw that the rider had fallen off and was lying on the ground a few yards away from his horse. It was a young man with blonde hair. His black horse seemed anxious and wouldn't let Rowdy get near it while Pete and Mr. Favor checked the man for signs of life.

"He's alive all right," announced the boss quietly.

"But his head sure needs some doctorin'," added the scout. Even as he said this, the young man groaned and raised himself from the ground. His hand immediately found his aching head and touched it tenderly.

"What happened to you?" asked Mr. Favor. The injured man shook his head once to try and clear his head, then put a hand back up to his head while the boss and his scout helped him to his feet.

"Well, uh, that's just what I'm trying to figure out myself," he mumbled.

"What's your name?"

"Josh Randall." The boss stuck out his hand.

"I'm Gil Favor, and this is my scout, Pete Nolan." Josh shook Mr. Favor's hand. Pete nodded at him.

"We'll get you back to our cook Wishbone and let him take a look at you. He knows a bit about doctorin'." Too weary and sore to protest, Josh nodded and slowly mounted the horse that Rowdy brought to him and followed them back to the herd.


End file.
